writers. / harry styles ( DISCONTINUED )

thirteen

Quicker Than Anticipated
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t h i r t e e n ;

Harry, Louis, and I stumbled into Louis' apartment, all three of us with at least two bags on each arm, besides me, I had one on my left because Harry wouldn't let me carry a heavy one, sadly. Though it aggravated me, I let it slide, and I'm thankful. My arms ached immensely by the time we got up to the apartment.

"That was nice. I haven't spent that much money on clothes in awhile," I said, setting the bags on the couch and stretching my arms, letting out a moan at the pleasure of my joints cracking and relaxing under my skin.

   Harry's mouth opened in a yawn, the sound adorable as he reached his arms up over his head, his shirt riding up to show the lower part of his stomach and, leaf tattoos?

   "Are those tattoos?" I asked, moving closer and trying to examine them, though he let his arms down, the tattoos disappearing under the fabric of his shirt, making me frown.

   He smiled, lifting up his shirt to about half torso and showing his tattoos...and his toned stomach. I refrained from widening my eyes and touching them, moving my hands behind my back.

   "Those are amazing! I love tattoos. I want one so bad," I gushed, smiling widely at the art on his body. It was mesmerizing. He usually wears flannels and sweaters so I wondered if he had any on his arms.

And only moments later, as if he could read my mind, Harry slipped off his flannel, showing the many tattoos on his left arm, though only one was on his right. They all looked spectacular. The detail was phenomenal. The artist must be amazing at what they do. I couldn't help but to wonder if any of them had significant meanings or value. I found myself scoping them out myself, thinking of what meaning could be in them from his perspective.

   "Maybe I'll get one in New York," I said, glancing over at Louis mischievously and biting my lip, wiggling my eyebrows like a rebellious child plotting mischief.

   "Nope!" Louis practically shouted. "Knowing you, you'll get a tattoo of a fuckin' crock shoe or something," Louis said, shaking his head and making me burst into laughter.

   "I would object, but I'd be lying," I said truthfully, laughing and running a hand through my hair to tame the tousled hair. In the midst of that, I sat beside the bags, picking out the clothes we had just thrown inside, beginning to fold them and set them on the couch next to me, throwing the hangers on the floor once I plucked the piece of clothing off of them.

   "My tattoo artist actually resides in New York City. If you really wanted to, you could. It would be pricey though, if you didn't know that already," Harry said, sitting by me and mimicking my movements; pick piece of clothing out, throw hanger on floor, fold piece of clothing. A cycle.

   I smiled, looking over at him and admiring the dimples indented into his cheeks. "I might. If Louis doesn't kill me first," I say, making Harry laugh and Louis to snicker and then huff from across the room. The teasing was always there, wherever we were and whatever the time.

   "I don't even know what I'd get," I said, furrowing my brows in though, humming in thought.

   "Think of something that would mean a lot to you and a good place to get it. If it's small, then that's better for a first tattoo. But think about the place and something symbolic so you wouldn't want to get rid of it months after you've gotten it," Harry explained, his accent unusually thick. I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face as I thought.